


Sure, Dean

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Humor, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Castiel goes to Dean for help with a book, and Dean doesn't know what it says, but come on, Cas wantshishelp, so Dean tries his best to give it.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Sure, Dean

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for the butchering of the French language that is about to happen. Dean knows nothing about French.
> 
> **Written for the prompt: your character pretends to be an expert at something.**

“Dean, do you know what this means?”

Castiel and Dean had been doing research in the bunker library about some strange artifact supposedly made from God. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was better than nothing, what with the world going to shit again. The book in question was in another language, and the longer Dean looked at it, the longer he was sure he didn’t know what it meant, but Cas looked so damn helpful. And god, he’d gone to _Dean_ for help. He valued him!

It was enough to make Dean take the book, and frown at it, start mumbling the words to himself.

French. Was that _French?_

Not sure what he was doing, Dean pointed to a paragraph, and said out loud, “Koo-and dee-dee… uh… dee-ew cray-ee Ter-ee, ill…” He continued, but mumbled, very unsure of how to pronounce anything, but one glance at Cas showed that the angel was falling for it. Dean pretended he was deep in thought, and then went, “Oh, see, okay. Right here it says that-that… uh… God is all powerful.” Castiel was nodding along, and Dean continued, “and the world was… was made in his image, and—”

Sam chose that time to enter and glance at the book. He rolled his eyes, laughing.

“Cas, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Cas straightened. “What?”

“Sure I do,” Dean argued, and then read, “Don-ner duh hume-an-eet-ay cad-ew duh—”

Sam settled down across from them, feet up on the table, amused. “It’s French, Cas. Dean doesn’t know French.”

“What are you doing saying I don’t know French? Jem-apple Dean. Parl-ay voo-s—”

“Salut, Dean, je m’appelle, Sam, et tu ne parles pas français, alors tais-toi.”

Dean’s mouth hung open.

“Uh… what?”

Sam leaned forward, all of him looking smug as hell, and it made Dean suddenly want to punch him in the face: “Exactly.”

Dean’s face turned beat red, and Cas grabbed the book, sighing, and hauling it over to Sam.

“Cas, no, Cas! I knew what I was doing! Cas!”

“Sure, Dean.”

“Yeah, sure, Dean,” Sam repeated.

Dean leaned back, and then muttered to himself, cheeks still filled with heat, “Sure, Dean.”


End file.
